Invocation
by The Neverending Meep
Summary: People tend to take things for granted. Things such as happiness, or money. Or pokemon. When a tragic event leads to these amazing creatures becoming outlawed, it doesn't take long for the world to fall to pieces. In a world for of uncertainty and instability, how far does one have to go to regain the coveted existence they once failed to acknowledge? Bunnelby debut.


**Prologue – The Winds of Change**

"Lumiose just isn't the same any more…" he sighs, shaking his head with mild dissent and folding his arms. Reclining slightly in the uncomfortable plastic lawn chair he has the misfortune to be sat in, and gazes down the long, empty streets, "I mean, this place used to be packed."

A deathly silence follows his voice down the equally barren road, where the only sign of life is the occasional discarded newspaper, blowing in the harsh unseasonal winds. The overcast, murky sky is only adding fuel, adding conviction to the obvious lack of people on the streets. Windows are boarded up, businesses are long ago abandoned, and even cars just sulk on the sides of the road, not having been used in months. This once bustling metropolis that was literally teeming with busy commuters, has certainly seen brighter days. People venture outside only for necessities, otherwise remaining in their houses, seeing and talking to no one. It's like all trace of livelihood has been drained out of this once thriving city.

"Well, guess I'd better get back to 'work'," the young man sighs, itching his short brown hair and negotiating his way out of his seat. A slow, deliberate shuffling movement has him dragging his unwilling body through the doors of an all but extinct café, where the gentle tingling of a bell is all that sounds. The faded sign at the door reads 'Café Liberté'

Were this young man standing straight, he'd stand at a fairy lofty six foot two, and if his spirits were a fraction of what they used to be, he'd have kept his athletic build in shape. Instead, sallow skin stretches tightly over neglected, skinny arms, and his blue eyes are dulled by depression, made evident by his arms hanging limp, his bitten fingernails, his choice of clothes – chosen because they fit his body, not because he likes them – and his constantly averted stare. He keeps his eyes busy, because that means he can analyse things, and then he doesn't have to think about… life.

"…hey Pop, I'm back." He mutters, gingerly tying an apron around his waist, "Did I miss anything?"

"Not much." A gruff voice replies from out back, "Riots in Camphrier, somethin' 'bout a day care hoarding illegal goods. When're they gonna learn?"

The young man sighs audibly, thudding down onto the stool behind the counter and affixing his name badge, "I-I kinda miss them, y'know?"

"Forget about it Lou." His father grunts from the other room, "We were stupid, an' mistakes were made. Trust me; we're better off without 'em."

"…this month's 'profits' say otherwise." Lou complains, burying his head in his arms and glancing idly around the café. About a dozen circular tables accompany the equally lonely stools around the room, their once cheerful and vibrant colourations dulled by peeling paint and about a half an inch of dust. While Lou admits it would give him something to do, his vague attempt at productivity is shot down, almost instantly, by the simple notion of 'what's the point?'

The way he sees it, if no one visits, there's no reason to keep the place looking presentable. And that's just… fine.

With another tortured sigh, be props his head up with one hand, and props open a dog-eared magazine with another, convincing himself that the month old issue of '_Uproar'_ is entertaining. "Things'll get better, don't worry Lou." His father tries to 'encourage' him from the other room. The chinking of a glass of whiskey hits a wooden countertop, and he says "Folks just need time to adjust, tha's all."

"Adjust?" Lou chokes, anger rising from his depths as he drops his magazine and glares in his father's general direction, "Pop, it's been six months, and people are still afraid to go outside dammit! We've had **three** customers today! The cupboards are empty, and we're bordering on bankrupt! How can we 'adjust' to this?!"

"Let's face it; if this keeps up, we're screwed…" Lou mutters, venting with yet another sigh and slamming his fist down on the counter.

"…I dunno what to tell ya." Pop sighs, biting back the urge to say something he'll later regret and swilling his glass, "If there was somethin' I could do, you'd be damn sure I'd do it. Hell, I'm sure we all would. But unless some mir'cle happens, we just gotta deal with the hand we're dealt, got it!?"

"…fine." Lou deadpans, throwing down his magazine and burying his face in his arms once again. The once glossy pages of the magazine, crumpled and spotty from overuse, reads 'A changed world; how will we cope?'

"I-I just want them back, y'know?" he mutters into his arms, feeling the prickle of tears welling up in his eyes. At this point, he's actually grateful that the place is empty. Because no grown man wants to be seen, reduced to tears over something completely avoidable.

**Author's note:**

**Why hello there people. Did I surprise you?**

**Yes, that's right. My brain has decided to throw yet another plotbunny at me, and of course plotbunnies do not back down until you spill their blood and turn it into fanfiction. Here's an idea – one that I hope is new – and also that I hope you guys'll like. I'm not certain where this is going just yet, but I do have a couple of chapters planned out, and hopefully I'll have an idea sometime soon. **

**So you guys can guess what's happened! :D**

**I've no idea how quickly I'll be updating, seeing as I now have **_**five**_** unfinished fics, but I will at least try.**

**As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Over and out.**


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